Advent Calendar Day Eighteen - Generation Kill ficlet: a love story (in household utensils)
Day One | Avalanche, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, R, 400 words | for pjvilar
Day Two | No Fu Manchu, Hawaii Five-0, Danny, Steve, PG, 803 words | for laceymcbain
Day Three | running away from nothing real, Inception, Eames/Ariadne, R, 1,358 words | for vinylroad
Day Four | they said a hundred times I should have died, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, NC-17, 1,192 words | for pau494
Day Five | try again, die again, die better, Torchwood, Jack, wallpaper | for pierhias
Day Six | monsters are always hungry, darling, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, NC-17, 1,001 words | for lunatics_word
Day Seven | The Nine Lives of Bryce Larkin, Chuck/Chrestomanci series (Diana Wynne Jones), Bryce/Chuck, PG-13, 1,760 words | for misura
Day Eight | Jump, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 2,045 words | for idrilka
Day Nine | It's a White Oahu Christmas, Eureka/Hawaii Five-0/Leverage/Supernatural/White Collar, G, 1,450 words | for vonilyn
Day Ten | The Jackpot, White Collar, Neal/Peter, PG, 644 words | for lazy-daze
Day Eleven | faster than sound, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, John, Cameron, PG-13, 237 words | for nrrrdy_grrrl
Day Twelve | A Golden Age, Merlin (BBC), Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, (Gwaine, Lancelot, Gilli), PG, 780 words | for hypertwink
Day Thirteen | Snug, White Collar, Neal, Peter, G, 308 words | for merkuria
Day Fourteen | The Outing, Castle, Esposito/Ryan, R, 1,758 words | for aurora_84
Day Fifteen | see the light, Supernatural, Sam, wallpaper | for daisychain1957
Day Sixteen | The Girl in the Goblet, Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, PG-13, 2,712 words | for curtana
Day Seventeen | Found, White Collar, Peter, Neal, wallpaper and icons | for setissma
a love story (in household utensils) [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG, 625 words, for kubis, prompt: photo. Beta by out_there.]
Nate tests the smoke alarms annually. He's meticulous about it. Brad would forget if it were left to him.
"What would you save if there was a fire?" Brad asks, curious.
Nate stares at him for a very long time. "You," he says, because it's obvious.
"I wouldn't need saving," Brad says.
Nate shrugs. That's irrelevant. "I'd save you anyway."
*
Nate wakes. He's conscious of cottonmouth. Brad's sleeping next to him, snoring softly. Nate won't turn him over - even three months out, Brad still sleeps light.
Nate slips out of bed and pads to the bathroom. He squeezes toothpaste onto his brush in the gray, rippled light filtering through the bathroom window and brushes until his teeth feel clean when he runs his tongue over them. He cups his hands and drinks from the tap. There's a chemical taste to the water, but it's cool and not unpleasant.
He pads back to bed and slots himself in his place next to Brad. Brad turns onto his side and stops snoring. Nate kisses the back of his neck and falls back to sleep.
*
When Brad moves into Nate's apartment, the only photos around - taped to the fridge, pined on the corkboard - are Nate's family and one of Bravo 2 in Baghdad.
The house they buy together is bare, with off-white walls they're in no rush to cover. They add photos slowly, one at a time. One of the two of them looking solemn in the warehouse in Baghdad, shoulder to shoulder, an empty bottle of Iraqi vodka behind them. That came to them from Lilley via Poke. Brad puts it in a bleached wood frame and hangs it in the hallway.
The next is one of them in Mike's back yard, Nate's arm slung over Brad's shoulders. That goes in the kitchen.
In their bedroom, there's one Nate's sister took. They're at a barbeque, and they can't have seen Madeleine with her camera, because Brad is leaning in to kiss Nate, and Nate's smiling. Content.
*
There's a rough patch on the wall. Last Christmas it was a hole in the wall, fist-shaped. They've plastered over it and painted it, but you can still see it if you know where to look. They could hang a picture over it - it's high enough, a picture wouldn't look out of place - but they don't.
Nate can't remember what they were fighting about.
It doesn't matter.
*
The first snow is early this year. There's a foot in the driveway already. Brad mumbles that he didn't have this hassle in California, but he's the first out in the morning, boots on, tramping an unnecessary path to the front gate. It's a Saturday, they don't have to leave the house today, but they pull shovels out of the garage and clear their path, then the sidewalk in front of their house.
They've finished, heading back inside to hot drinks, when Brad slips. He splits his lip on the gate, and Nate laughs at the look of disgust on Brad's face. He knows what Brad's thinking: an ignominious injury.
"I can tell the doctor it was a bar brawl," Nate offers, driving Brad to the local hospital. "That you won."
"Of course I won," Brad says, voice muffled under the towel Nate insisted he hold so he doesn't get blood on the seat.
He gets four stitches. Nate watches the doctor work, meticulous about each one. There's no rush, no ordinance falling around them, no danger. Brad grins at him.
"Keep still, please," the doctor says, putting the last stitch in at the corner of his lip.
By spring, it's just a faint scar. Nate likes to trace it when he kisses Brad; it's part of their history now.
//
Day Two | No Fu Manchu, Hawaii Five-0, Danny, Steve, PG, 803 words | for laceymcbain
Day Three | running away from nothing real, Inception, Eames/Ariadne, R, 1,358 words | for vinylroad
Day Four | they said a hundred times I should have died, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, NC-17, 1,192 words | for pau494
Day Five | try again, die again, die better, Torchwood, Jack, wallpaper | for pierhias
Day Six | monsters are always hungry, darling, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, NC-17, 1,001 words | for lunatics_word
Day Seven | The Nine Lives of Bryce Larkin, Chuck/Chrestomanci series (Diana Wynne Jones), Bryce/Chuck, PG-13, 1,760 words | for misura
Day Eight | Jump, Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 2,045 words | for idrilka
Day Nine | It's a White Oahu Christmas, Eureka/Hawaii Five-0/Leverage/Supernatural/White Collar, G, 1,450 words | for vonilyn
Day Ten | The Jackpot, White Collar, Neal/Peter, PG, 644 words | for lazy-daze
Day Eleven | faster than sound, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, John, Cameron, PG-13, 237 words | for nrrrdy_grrrl
Day Twelve | A Golden Age, Merlin (BBC), Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, (Gwaine, Lancelot, Gilli), PG, 780 words | for hypertwink
Day Thirteen | Snug, White Collar, Neal, Peter, G, 308 words | for merkuria
Day Fourteen | The Outing, Castle, Esposito/Ryan, R, 1,758 words | for aurora_84
Day Fifteen | see the light, Supernatural, Sam, wallpaper | for daisychain1957
Day Sixteen | The Girl in the Goblet, Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, PG-13, 2,712 words | for curtana
Day Seventeen | Found, White Collar, Peter, Neal, wallpaper and icons | for setissma
a love story (in household utensils) [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG, 625 words, for kubis, prompt: photo. Beta by out_there.]
Nate tests the smoke alarms annually. He's meticulous about it. Brad would forget if it were left to him.
"What would you save if there was a fire?" Brad asks, curious.
Nate stares at him for a very long time. "You," he says, because it's obvious.
"I wouldn't need saving," Brad says.
Nate shrugs. That's irrelevant. "I'd save you anyway."
*
Nate wakes. He's conscious of cottonmouth. Brad's sleeping next to him, snoring softly. Nate won't turn him over - even three months out, Brad still sleeps light.
Nate slips out of bed and pads to the bathroom. He squeezes toothpaste onto his brush in the gray, rippled light filtering through the bathroom window and brushes until his teeth feel clean when he runs his tongue over them. He cups his hands and drinks from the tap. There's a chemical taste to the water, but it's cool and not unpleasant.
He pads back to bed and slots himself in his place next to Brad. Brad turns onto his side and stops snoring. Nate kisses the back of his neck and falls back to sleep.
*
When Brad moves into Nate's apartment, the only photos around - taped to the fridge, pined on the corkboard - are Nate's family and one of Bravo 2 in Baghdad.
The house they buy together is bare, with off-white walls they're in no rush to cover. They add photos slowly, one at a time. One of the two of them looking solemn in the warehouse in Baghdad, shoulder to shoulder, an empty bottle of Iraqi vodka behind them. That came to them from Lilley via Poke. Brad puts it in a bleached wood frame and hangs it in the hallway.
The next is one of them in Mike's back yard, Nate's arm slung over Brad's shoulders. That goes in the kitchen.
In their bedroom, there's one Nate's sister took. They're at a barbeque, and they can't have seen Madeleine with her camera, because Brad is leaning in to kiss Nate, and Nate's smiling. Content.
*
There's a rough patch on the wall. Last Christmas it was a hole in the wall, fist-shaped. They've plastered over it and painted it, but you can still see it if you know where to look. They could hang a picture over it - it's high enough, a picture wouldn't look out of place - but they don't.
Nate can't remember what they were fighting about.
It doesn't matter.
*
The first snow is early this year. There's a foot in the driveway already. Brad mumbles that he didn't have this hassle in California, but he's the first out in the morning, boots on, tramping an unnecessary path to the front gate. It's a Saturday, they don't have to leave the house today, but they pull shovels out of the garage and clear their path, then the sidewalk in front of their house.
They've finished, heading back inside to hot drinks, when Brad slips. He splits his lip on the gate, and Nate laughs at the look of disgust on Brad's face. He knows what Brad's thinking: an ignominious injury.
"I can tell the doctor it was a bar brawl," Nate offers, driving Brad to the local hospital. "That you won."
"Of course I won," Brad says, voice muffled under the towel Nate insisted he hold so he doesn't get blood on the seat.
He gets four stitches. Nate watches the doctor work, meticulous about each one. There's no rush, no ordinance falling around them, no danger. Brad grins at him.
"Keep still, please," the doctor says, putting the last stitch in at the corner of his lip.
By spring, it's just a faint scar. Nate likes to trace it when he kisses Brad; it's part of their history now.
//